The Lantern Bearer
by GwendolineChadwick
Summary: Yoriko is a former student turned housekeeper at Wammy's House. As the nights grow darker and the days colder, she finds herself slowly recalling the trauma of her past and the past that lurks within the halls of a house still very much alive. With her own declining mind she cannot help but wonder... is the house the only thing that can be haunted? (Has triggers, be advised.)
1. Chapter 1

Hello all, this story is inspired by my older story "The Ghosts of Wammy's House", but is updated by the development of my character Y who I roleplay on Tumblr. I hope you enjoy this series and do not find it too dull!

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CHAPTER ONE

Though golden hair and tanned freckled skin called forth a child of summer, of a past life of intense heat and turquoise ocean, the reflection on the mirror told of frosted eyes, one almost complete black, and scars painted with harsh strokes; the madness of an artist caught in the delirium of too much drink. If she tiled her head one way, the scar was thin enough that it could almost be mistaken for a mismatched tan, but the dilated pupil of her eye and the scar above her head would give her away. If she tilted it the other way there was little escaping the slash of the knife that had, at one point, exposed her jaw. Even make-up could hide no such thing, and she had very little interest in wearing it in the first place; the sheer effort that would be involved in her already crowded routine would render her mad.

So, it was with melancholia that she removed the cotton nightgown. It did her a great discomfort to look down at the body and see what it had become in a matter of only a few years; only seven. She disliked looking down at herself and seeing the reflection of her hardships, caught in a constant battle of pride of survival and grief for time stolen from her.

With a bit more force than necessary, she tightened the lace of her chemise, hoping to shield the scars there. Freckled shoulders stood proud against the frills; a direct contrast to the delicate role she was so determined to play. Over the bloomers she pulled on her garter belt, opening the lower drawer of her vanity desk and taking out her stockings; black which she thought certainly appropriate for the weather. Tying them to the garter belt, it was as she knelt down to put on her shoes, always boots of some sort, that she felt rather than heard her bedroom door creep open.

She knew that it had been locked the night before; she had checked at least five times. Yet she knew it to be open by the cold chill of the corridor leading into the abandoned East Wing of which she was the only living inhabitant. She only had to glance at the vanity mirror for a moment to confirm that it had been pushed all the way open, the inky black of early morning staring at her.

She did not stare long, knowing that if she were to do so she might begin to see things in that darkness that were either an indication of the disturbances within her own mind, or a suggestion of something far worse. She finished lacing her boots before promptly covering her undergarments, considerably modest for others but certainly scandalous for her, with petticoats. Thin cotton followed by a quilted one, delicate patterns having been stitched onto its surface during the many holidays in which the children were simply not in the house or during days off. She was rather proud of the Cyclamens lonesome nature stitched along the bottom, the pinks and greens adding colour to what would otherwise be a bleak outfit well suited for the bleak weather of the English countryside.

Brushing herself of invisible dust, she turned without looking at the door, walking to her bed. She had already sorted it to look untouched, hoping to pack in the warmth. She tried to not look surprised at the fact that her clothes were moved to the pillow where they had been seated on her armchair before, nor did she comment on the distinct odour of fresh earth that had permeated the room as she retrieved the clothes that were slightly too cold for her comfort. She was never a particular fan of the cold, but she had grown used to it over the years when it was within the standard weather of south England.

The thick cream skirt went on first, an almost polka dot design along its surface. Frill kept it distinctly sweet and could almost deceive her into thinking that she was youthful and full of spring, this belief continued with the long-sleeved blouse, always long sleeved, of equal colour with the brown ribbons at the ends of the sleeves pulled in tight to make the rest of the sleeve puffy. It was intended to make her look cuter than she was, she thought, and that was why she had bought it. The frill around the buttons and neck only added to the illusion, hiding the rest of her scars that most modern shirts could not achieve, completely with a dark brown bow that was attached to the final button to save the hassle of tying one herself.

The illusion began to wilt with the reddish-brown skirt that followed after, the mature lace of black lacing the bottom. It was followed soon by the dress that would be seen by the public. It was almost black, but not quite, with thin strips of brown running up its shape to give a distinct pinstripe appearance. Its v-shaped collar exposed the white underneath and she supposed that it gave the illusion of cheer that she so often gave around others. After buckling the sleeves and buttoning its front, she willed herself to pull her hair free of the many layers, only to find that it had already been pulled free.

She had not noticed, but as soon as she acknowledged it the chill of the corridor came to her once again. Its creaking presence like the stare of a cat as she slept. Her awareness of it was potent, and difficult to ignore, but it had been a year since she had been in the household and she was determined to hope that if she simply ignored it then perhaps its presence would torment her no further than it had done so far. That if she willed it to not exist then it would not.

Besides, she thought with increased muster, doors that creaked open due to bad locks and strange smells were entirely common in old households and she could tell herself often that her hair had simply not been caught in the many layers of clothes without feeling too shaky on the matter.

With such firm thoughts in mind, she returned to her vanity desk and pulled out the only jewellery she would ever wear on a daily basis. It was not too elaborate, a brooch with little decoration, but held within its glass case was a single lock of auburn hair bleached orange. Even before she came to the household, she had always carried it with her, a piece of a person long gone to always keep close to her heart. She attached it over the ribbon and pulled on her gloves; concealing the last of her old wounds that could be hidden.

"There, now you are ready for the children." She said, nodding to her reflection. It was only as she stood up that she put on her glasses, almost flinching at what she saw in their lenses before she put them on. In the reflection of the glass she could see a distinct darkness behind her where she could see no such thing in the mirror. Its shape was almost human, but too blurred and too small to be determined. Thinking it a stain, she rubbed at the glasses before putting them on her face. When she turned, there was no such presence behind her.

She had a routine to the household that involved her waking up at such early and accursed hours that were only significantly more damned as the days became shorter. During the summer, five in the morning had some source of light and she had a better chance of seeing what she was doing, but it was late Autumn then and she had to rely on her torch to guide her as to turn on the main lights would be to wake the children, and heavens above that was a dangerous thing to do with such an unpredictable lot.

She could distinctly recall a certain child screaming and throwing his toys at her when she did it last, and she learned very quickly that though she was the housekeeper it was unwise to suggest that the children were well-behaved.

So, she walked in almost complete dangerous, the necessary stealth of past years serving her once again as she kept in the corridors; even she could not hear her footsteps as she left the East Wing and all its chills to go into the downstairs kitchen to eat. It would be the only time she was certain to have a meal without interruption as the only people that woke at such an hour were the older children either because of the common trope of insomnia in the house or because they had just returned from the town and were recovering from behaviour she would certainly not approve of but could not prove.

She was not surprised to see one such individual come down the stairs shortly after she finished making her porridge, drowning it in honey. If he was startled by her presence, he did not show it.

"It was a rough night, I suppose?" She asked, glancing at his ruffled hair and the thick bags under his eyes. He looked disturbed as he sat down across from the wooden table.

"Do you ever sleep, Miss Kaneshiro?"

"Depends on the day." She dug in but waited for him to speak. Like many children in the household, she knew him to have unusual habits and ticks and observed them as he pulled impulsively at his left ear, stretching the lobe. She had noted some time ago that the left lobe was actually longer than the right because of this.

"It was really loud last night. Someone was walking back and forth upstairs." He grumbled, and she poured him a cup of tea in sympathy.

"Upstairs? Surely it was just the house settling? The entire attic is locked, and I have the only keys there." He scoffed, adding five spoons of sugar to his tea and stirring aggressively. The entire household had a bizarre obsession with adding far more sugar than necessary to things that did not need so much sugar. She had seen someone dip broccoli in caramel sauce once before and promptly hid it to prevent her eyes from seeing such a thing ever again.

"No, it was definitely someone walking around. Sounded like they were pacing too. Heavy boots." She thought it a peculiar thing and decided that she would have to investigate the attic before she retired to her bed that night. It would be troublesome if children got in there; if not for the many hazards then at least for the fact that she personally thought it a bad omen.

The day continued in the way it always did. Children went to school, she helped with meals, she did paperwork, she checked on the children unable to go to class, she kept things in order, and when her breaks came, she rested.

Though it was a cold day, and certainly it was getting colder still, they were allowed to play outside. The gates were shut with good reason as no guests were expected and there had been far too many incidents in the past of children playing hide and seek in the nearby forest and getting lost. One had caught hypothermia in such recklessness, and she would always glance at the gates just to make sure no one was trying to climb them.

There had been no supervisor beyond her that day for the original supervisor had been struck with a sudden illness the day before and could barely move out of her bed. She had personally given them medicine to help recover. She mostly stood by the stairs as most of the children were in the playground, but she was always watching three others that were closer to the black iron fence; the main troublemakers she had learned.

A fourth figure stood on the other side of the fence, pinning her with its cold gaze. She could not see it from such a distance, but she could feel its eyes on her. Chilled like winter frost, she found herself paralysed beneath its intense stare.

She knew in an instant that it had been one of the children that had become lost in the forest before and had not returned. As quickly as the thought entered her mind, she shook it away violently. Such wild fantasy would do her no good, and when she focused her eyes once again on the spot, she found no figure there.

"This is the curse of so little sleep." She stated grimly, knowing that her past pattern of barely three hours was leading her into a sharp decline. "Perhaps I should ask for a holiday. Heavens knows I am fortunate to get such things." She could not recall the last holiday she actually had; usually her only breaks were when the children were on holiday and even then, she was working. "I could always threaten to take them to court if they refuse."

It was an amusing thought, but this household was well beyond the laws of the country. They could work her to death itself and they would not be dealt with. Still, she thought that she had earned a respectable enough reputation at this point that they would want to keep her on rather than having to deal with her more troublesome nature. There were still scars in the household where she had her brother had rebelled.

"A rest shall be good." She concluded. Even if it was a single day to catch nine hours of sleep, it would be enough for her.

So, she left the concept of the ghost behind and concluded that when she next passed Mr Wammy's office she would request a vacation.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Many times, Yoriko found herself in front of the main fireplace completing tasks that should have been completed during the day. The fire would pop loudly as she sat in the arm chair that had been labelled as hers if only for the fact that she was so often found in it during evenings rather than in her own bed, which was the case that night as well.

She had attempted to sleep, there was little doubt about that, but instead found herself twisted into knots in her bed sheets, uncomfortably hot despite the chill of late October. So, she had surrendered to the reality of yet another sleepless night, something she found herself cursing over, and pulled on her slippers, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders as she picked up her basket and crept into the downstairs space.

It was late enough that there was nobody left awake, the antique clock on the fireplace telling her that it was almost three in the morning. Once she managed to get the fire going strong, she had made herself a pot of tea: heather tea which Beatrice had given her a few days earlier. It sat on the small round table next to her designated arm chair as she pulled out her knitting for that night, starting a new row as she let the tea cool in her cup.

Wind groaned outside the comfort of the house, the floor was chilled. It was always colder on the lower floors even when the central heating was supposed to evenly spread it, it was the only reason she had worn slippers otherwise she would be barefoot.

With it being so dark, she did not need to concern herself with her glasses, no need to fear her damaged eye becoming blind with the light. She was glad for such things and let out a small smile as she continued her work. She was attempting to make a blanket as a gift for the house's psychiatrist. It was mostly for the sake of kindness, but part of her was also aware of the fact that if people liked her they were more likely to do what she asked of them, and certainly nothing was more important to her than ensuring the comfort and happiness of the children; to do that she would need to ensure that said psychiatrist did not get too creative with his punishments. Not that such a thing was significantly common in current times. With past conflicts being resolved, and the new government very much being involved in the happiness of the next generations (perhaps more as a result of public outcry when scandals were exposed), there were near constant inspections. It was rather difficult to be a troublemaker when you were being watched the entire time.

'Still, it is better to secure good behaviour through all methods rather than assuming one is enough.'

The floorboards above creaked with the weight of an active figure. Heavy boots, she thought, as she heard them clunk along the corridors of the upstairs living quarters. She heard a door being unlocked and assumed that it was one of the workers, the sound of the door swinging open being followed shortly by a slam.

'Not a considerate one, then.' She mused. Perhaps it was one of the newer workers, she thought. The doors were often inclined to slam shut if you did not hold them to the doorframe. It would echo throughout the entire house, and certainly wake them too.

The person, who she suspected may have been Marigold for she was the newest worker, did not linger and continued onwards to the main staircase where the boots could be heard marching downwards.

"Marigold, if you are suffering from sleep problems feel free to join me. I have already made a pot of tea." She said, without turning around, far too focused on her knitting.

Marigold continued to walk towards her, her footsteps growing louder and louder until she finally reached the space directly behind her. She seemed to be observing what Yoriko was doing.

"Ah, I am trying to charm Dr. Jeffrey into good behaviour by getting him an extra blanket for the winter. He is from France, you understand, so he is not used to cold weather on its own and certainly not the bleak winters of this place, though I suppose none of us truly are." She mused, setting it down. "Shall I get you a cup?"

She stood up and turned to face Marigold.

Nothing stared back at her.

The dark green wallpaper of the living room stared back at her, the bookcase watching her with words of Poe and Shelley flickering in the light of the fireplace. She looked around, anticipating seeing Marigold as though the girl was playing a trick on her as she was so often inclined to. She was about to conclude her own madness as she settled back into her armchair when hands slammed onto her shoulders. She swung, sharply, intending to blind the attacker with a knitting needle when she managed to stop herself.

Marigold's laughter bounced around the room, delighting in having unsettled her.

"It seems I can frighten you yet." She declared with pride as Yoriko swatted at her wiggling fingers.

"You are nothing short of miscreant." She scolded, puffing out her cheeks and looking away, clearly sulking at having been so startled.

"Oh, come off it, Miss Kaneshiro. If it makes you feel better, I wasn't planning it. I was just coming back from the bathroom now, the lock got stuck again."

"The bathroom?"

"Yeah, got stuck in there for a good fifteen minutes. We'll need to talk to Shawn about that being an issue. Probably just needs oil or something."

"Yes… quite." She made to start knitting but instead set it down. "Would you like some tea?"

"Oh yes, Miss Kaneshiro, that'd be grand."

"Right." She stood up, somewhat shaky on her feet as she took her candle and lit it.

"Never asked why everyone uses candles around here?"

"Flashlights never do too well in here. I think it must be the cold causing the batteries to die sooner. They are only used when you need more light and the electricity is dead."

"Ah, makes sense. Shame the weather makes us so Victorian."

"I think it has its own charm." Candle lit and set firmly in its handle, she made her way to the kitchen. Just beyond the darkness, she could see the fog settling in as it so often did, stretching out into the forest. There was no real point in turning the light on when she had no need to, not that the lights worked particularly well at such an hour anyhow.

'Yet another thing to mention to Shawn. Hopefully he will be able to get insulation.' He had mentioned that it may be related to the many issues of the house. With Bon Fire Night coming up soon, the children would be away for the whole day and the workers would be able to confirm it as an issue. If it was, there would need to be a trip planned to get most of the children out of the house to fix it.

It was with the slightest effort that the cupboard swung open, she had barely touched it at all, with one cup pushed slightly further forward than the others. She reached up to grab it, bringing it to eye level. She saw the design on it and froze.

'Ah, this is…' She had bought it as an inside joke with Z, the false design of a Haggis staring at her. It was a hairy brown thing with a red tartan hat playing the bagpipes. Absolutely dreadful, which was why she had given it to him. He had laughed for ten minutes straight and had to be lifted from the ground because he could not use his legs. 'Was that not the moment C had fallen for him?'

It brought back fond memories, but the mood quickly soured with the reminder that Z was currently a mile away from the house in a kingdom six feet deep and two feet wide. She put the cup back in place, pushing it further forward, and took out an unassuming cup before retreating into the living room.

Marigold had settled into the armchair opposite her, staring into the fire. Yoriko poured her a cup of tea and handed it to her. Marigold whispered a thank you to her, but did not drink, continuing to stare into the fire as Yoriko returned to her own armchair and returned to her knitting.

They did not speak the entire time, which Yoriko thought unusual for Marigold but made no comment on as she went about her work. She only made noise when she lifted the tea to her lips, sipping slightly on it. The wind served as conversation for them.

Three o'clock struck with a gentle tinging, causing Yoriko to lift her eyes away from her work. She had made great progress in her blanket, certain that she would finish it well before Christmas and still have time to make other gifts for the other workers.

"I suppose we should both attempt to sleep." She commented, turning her attention back to Marigold. Marigold jolted and, much to Yoriko's surprise, seemed hesitant. "Are you quite alright?"

"Y-yes, Miss Kaneshiro it's just…" She shuffled in her seat, her knuckles white as she held her cup tighter. "I think my room is haunted."

"What makes you think that?" Marigold was clearly uncomfortable in the matter, not wishing to press further. Yoriko knew when someone would not speak and simply gathered her knitting and put it back into the basket. "Perhaps you would like to share my room for the night? Until the trouble passes."

"That's really kind of you, Miss Kaneshiro. I promise not to be a bother."

Marigold cuddled in her sleep, that was what Yoriko learned. She also had a vice grip so when the hour came for her to get back to work, only two hours after they had settled, she found herself struggling to escape. Still, it was two hours sleep and the first time she had slept comfortably in a while.

As she put on her clothes for the day, she thought to herself that perhaps she should look for a stuffed animal since she would never be so bold as to ask for someone to cuddle with. She was not entirely certain on what was considered appropriate with fellow employees, and the fact that she was far too shy on such matters as it was. She took a good five years to even ask to hold A's hand. She would simply have to persevere through her increased insomnia and hope that it was pass as all previous episodes had before.

Marigold ended up sleeping well into the afternoon.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Though Halloween was still a good five days away, it was with determination that Yoriko woke that morning. She had informed Shawn that she intended to go into town that day, and seeing as he was frequently switching back and forth between the town and the house to repair some of the plumbing, which had caused an unpleasant rattling sound in the walls during the night and led to the suspicious smells that had settled into some rooms, she thought it good to go with him rather than choosing to walk or otherwise call a taxi like she otherwise would.

It was growing colder and darker with each passing day, and she took to wearing grey wool stockings to stop her legs from catching a chill and was secretly grateful for the fact that she had to consider the appearance of her legs even less than usual as she laced up her boots. Even tweed gloves went on, the fur lining a comfort for if she grew nervous, which she found to be quite frequent as the nights grew longer. She suspected it had to do with the challenges of seeing in the dark; she did not know what was beyond the comforts of her room and had to check the spaces within her room to ensure her own comfort.

'Perhaps it is such anxiety that had led to my poor sleeping routine.' Securing the capelet coat in place, she had to check twice to make sure that there were no holes in her pockets, though she checked every time she put on the coat, and then twice again to make sure that her phone and purse were in her pocket. She then glanced into her carpet bag and confirmed that everything that she put in the night before was still there. Finally, she read over her shopping list again.

They were getting ready for Halloween, and she knew that the children wanted enough pumpkins to fill the entire house. It would be easier to call by phone, but there had been issues with the phone going dead; another task Shawn was looking into that day.

'A peculiar thing that so many things are falling apart at once where they had been working without fault for years before I returned…' She did not want to think of it as a bad omen, but she found herself struggling often to think with a rational mind in the house. It was a paranoia that had followed her from childhood.

It was still dark out when she locked up her room, not even a flicker of a potential blue over the horizon, with only the vague blur of light coming from the distance being that of the town itself.

As she reached the front entrance, she felt a distinct tugging sensation at her sleeve and moved to pull it away from the object that had ensnared it.

It pulled violently and she stumbled back, falling onto her behind. She turned, the fear of an attacker startling her into defending herself, but she saw not a single thing there. The house was still, and no living thing stood before her, only the dark silhouettes of the house itself. Unsettled, she rose from her spot on the wooden floor and reached into the spot where she had felt the violent tug.

The thin metal of a nail knocked out of the doorframe finally came loose and hit the ground with a gentle clink, rolling across the floor until it hit her boot. She knelt down to pick it up, knowing that one of the younger children might harm themselves with it, and put it in her pocket. After confirming there were no tears in her sleeve she returned to the door, feeling the tender strokes of fingers against her elbow once again, which she ignored in favour of her own frightened mind.

It was always a challenge ordering pumpkin around October, but less and less people were actively celebrating Halloween in England which Yoriko thought to be a tragic thing most times, but beneficial when she was looking to order over thirty pumpkins for the house. The owner had long since realised that she was not ordering enormous amounts of supplies, whether it be some sort of vegetable or cake, because she was in the habit of having feasts or was otherwise hoarding food. Though the name was rarely mentioned, many people knew of the house she worked in. Many enquired about the children, memories of its unpleasant past still known in living memory, and many recognised her as one of the former children and wondered how she managed to work in such a place without falling into a panic.

"I endure as we all do." She responded politely, though truthfully her mind had blocked out most of her memories of Wammy's House. The memories would flicker back from time to time when she stood in a particular space or if she saw a particular thing, but for the most part her memories were entirely absent. It brought great frustration, but also great fear for she understood that people often forgot so successfully only when the thing they saw was so traumatic that to remember nothing at all was better than to even have a glimpse.

Having an entire jar full of pumpkin spice would seem over-the-top to most, but she would be surprised if it lasted all the way to Halloween especially with the way the older children consumed seasonal food like it was a drug. She had seen one such child take an entire spoonful of pumpkin spice the year before and eat it as it was, the spoon hanging from their mouth. It was horrifying to observe and when she had tried it, she had almost suffocated.

'No, having it in drinks and food is enough.' In the past she used to be able to eat anything, even if it was dangerous for human consumption, but as the danger of starvation passed her, despite what her hoarding tendencies said, her ability to endure any food also passed, although she knew for a fact that most poisons were still unable to affect her; much to her relief at the time.

With Shawn still searching for the necessary tools, Yoriko took to wandering through her usual spots. An old bookshop, her favourite café, the park which was lush with vibrant orange, down to the antique shop where she still impulsively bought the occasional Victorian item which did little to remove her from the image of being an old Victorian ghost pretending to be a living girl.

She looked at the front display, observing the various things that lurked inside. Some china plates with matching tea cups and saucers, a teapot shaped into a white rabbit, a porcelain doll dressed in a nun's clothing with gold glasses much like her own, various local landscape paintings, a silver pocket watch, and a Ouija board all stared back at her.

All caught her eye in various ways, but she was lured in by the cheap price of the silver pocket watch. The bell chimed above her, and she saw the elderly man at the front desk reading a magazine. He had been there when she was younger, although his hair had grown even greyer in time and he had grown thinner; more stick than faded muscle now.

"Well, that's a face I haven't seen in a long time. How're things going at the house, Yoriko?"

"Well enough, Mr. Cliffe. I was curious about that pocket watch on your front display, has it been sold yet?"

"Nope, no sellers so far. Are you interested?"

"Absolutely." She said with a nod as he creaked along to it, taking it out of its display case. She watched him do it, the letters of the Ouija board out of the corner of her vision. "The Ouija board too, if you may."

The words came out of her mouth without any thought to them. She had not even thought of the board, had barely registered it at all, so she was surprised when she spoke. She wondered why she would say them at all and drew her hand to her mouth as if it would answer for her, but instead all she caught was the sight of her own frozen breath.

'Peculiar… it does not feel cold in here.' She did not protest, though she received a strange glance from Mr. Cliffe as he took it off the display; she was too embarrassed to refuse and thought it would be a cruel thing to refuse a man his business.

The pocket watch was easily put into the pocket of her skirt, but the Ouija board was more difficult to conceal and more conspicuous. She did her best to hide it in her bag, but the corners pressed out against the edges of it, making it clear that though the details of what it was were not known to the public that, to her, it would always be there. It was not potent in its existence, but it did not hide itself for her sake, and it did little to ease her nerves.

When Shawn did complete his tasks for the day, he was in quite a pleasant mood to begin with, although it was with a glance to her bag that his smile seemed to vanish. As if he knew what wicked crime she had committed, and perhaps he did, although he did not say anything and despite the discomfort that seemed to have settled over him, he continued to engage in cheerful talk as they returned to the house.

It was only as they stopped by the front entrance of the house that he finally spoke.

"You wouldn't happen to be in the habit of causing trouble around this time of year, would you Miss Kaneshiro?" She stood on the steps, unease clear in the tension in her shoulders though her face remained placid and her voice steady.

"Not at all, Shawn." He nodded slightly.

"Ensure that if you do feel up to mischief that you know how to get out of it as well." She nodded slightly at him.

"Of course, Shawn. I hope your work goes well, it would certainly be a nightmare for everyone involved to have bad plumbing in the winter."

"Without a doubt. It may be getting hotter everywhere else, but it only seems to be getting colder here." With a slight dipping of his cap, he turned away to focus on his work, letting her enter the house.

She returned to chaos.


	4. Chapter 4

As a warning to all readers, this chapter does include mentions of a suicide towards the end which will play a major role in the story. If this makes you uncomfortable then this mention begins with the door being found off its hinges. Esmerelda is not my character, but the OC of my friend sculs-cf-scnder on Tumblr. She is Scottish and, as I am Scottish, I have incorporated my accent into hers. If I find anyone mocking her accent or otherwise going in with the typical attitude of "lol idk get a translator" you will have your comment removed. For those that actually struggle to read it, I have marked her sentences with a star and put a translation down at the bottom. I hope you enjoy.

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CHAPTER FOUR

Esmerelda had come marching up to her, her curly hair a wild mess around her as though held by static. She did not run, but she was clearly in quite a hurry to reach her as her boots clunked against the wooden floor, her skirts lifted by hands clenched so tight they were almost white.

"Miss Kaneshiro, since ye have been gone there has been nothing but trouble in this house."*

"That sounds quite serious." She had set her bag down and was removing her gloves, shoving them into the pockets of her coat before hanging it up.

"The children have done something remarkable." She raised a brow at that, thinking that with the children being as intelligent as they were that everything they did was considered remarkable for children. Still, she could not contain the urge to shiver as she held the bag close to her person once more. It did not bring the comfort it often did.

"That should not be too unusual." Esmerelda huffed, her brows furrowing and expression nervous as she continued to glance behind her as though anticipating an attacker.

"Ye'll have tae follow me."* Her seriousness stilled Yoriko's scepticism. Esmerelda had worked with the children longer than herself, and she knew better than to judge her like she had done in the beginning. If something had unsettled her, then it was something that had to be taken with the utmost seriousness.

They had started with the living room. The fire had burned out and the ashes had been scattered across the floor, although the embers had long since grown cold. It was unusual behaviour, but it was not remarkable. What was remarkable was that all of the furniture had been turned upside down. The bookcase was included in this; all of the books still inside.

What caught her interest, however, was the rug and the carpet that went with it. Part of the floor was wooden like the corridor, but the majority of the living room floor was a duck egg green carpet which was covered by a Victorian rug of elaborate pattern which had been nailed to the carpet to stop it from shifting.

So, it was with utter bewilderment that the rug had been removed and turned upside down, but that this was also stacked on top of the carpet which had been torn carefully from its position and also flipped upside down.

"I would like tae clarify that this room was not unattended for more than fifteen minutes. Beatrice had gone in at one o'clock after Mr. Ruvie had left, and it wasnae like this."* Yoriko knelt down to lift at the carpet, as if to confirm that it had truly been torn free from the floor. "There is no way that children could dae something like this in fifteen minutes, I dinnae care how smart they are."

Yoriko did not argue with her, she could not come up with a solution either.

"Which of the children were not supervised during this time?"

"Most of them were attending Saturday clubs, the only ones that were not supervised are the ones that were ill, and Beatrice had checked on them before she had passed through the living room." Yoriko's frown only deepened; how had they managed such a thing? Could it truly be them at all? Perhaps someone had gotten through Wammy's security and was causing trouble? "This isnae the only room."*

At first, Yoriko did not know where Esmerelda was taking her, but as she passed by the main living quarters of the children, she recognised the path towards her own bedroom on the very edge of the East Wing.

The door to her bedroom had been swung wide open and was hanging off its hinges, on the brink of falling off altogether.

Yoriko held back the urge to gulp, although she could feel tears prick her eyes. She hesitated, locked in her own disturbed limps, but the clicks of her boots against the floor eventually followed. They seemed to echo in the silent corridor, clacking to the sound of her own heartbeat which was slow despite her anticipation.

She found herself paralysed at what she found beyond the door.

Yoriko held her personal space very dear. She had worked hard on it since she had moved into Wammy's House and found it enormously important to have a sanctuary to which she could escape. She had made the quilts herself, had searched every shop for the perfect wallpaper and the perfect lampshade. She had made the room just for herself, concealing the memories of the time she had originally lived just next door.

And yet someone had marched into her territory with complete disregard for her happiness and had made it their own space. The image flashed wildly through her mind, flickering memories with every blink as she flashed between the space that had been there and the space that was there now.

A place she had erased from her memory, and place that her mind was still not ready to recall but had been pushed so brutally to the forefront of her mind. She remembered the galaxy blankets because she had bought them, and she had burnt them. She remembered the mismatched furniture of a wardrobe with peeling white paint and a door that was always slightly open because the lock never worked. She remembered the tacky, old-fashioned clothes inside that were more suited for a grandfather if not for a father with terrible jokes in mind with every sweater vest. She remembered the desk with the names carved into it which she had seen destroyed with an axe and used in the fireplace even now. She could see every abandoned pen, every pill, and every scrap of paper with poetic words and angry, aggressive curses. Above her she could see it in the rafters, something which had been hidden after the incident.

It swayed in an invisible breeze, and she could hear it creak though there was nothing in it, the rope taut with the weight of an invisible entity that she could not see but she knew exactly what it was.

She could feel the choking around her own rope as she stared up, stilled by its existence. The world was underwater, and the world muffled and all she could think about was the rope hanging above her and the choking of her own throat. All she could see was the faded blue of that day, of the bloody fingers of a person that had realised they had done it wrong and was trying to escape after realising what a mistake they had done. Of a person trying to not die, of a person that had died only minutes before being found.

She could see it in her mind's eye as she saw it then. Of tears and saliva dripping down the face. Of sheer suffering that she could have saved had she woken up a little earlier. Of torment she could have freed the victim of had she checked her pocket before putting the keys inside to confirm that there were no holes. Of torture that could have ended in an instant had she not had to walk back down the corridor to pick up the keys when she realised that the occupant was not answering.

She did not see the victim, but she felt them. Someone touched her shoulder and she fell back, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. She felt her head hit the ground, but all she saw was darkness, and all she heard was the ringing of her eyes as the crushing pain in her throat vanished.

* * *

*"Miss Kaneshiro, since you have been gone there has been nothing but trouble in this house."

*"You'll have to follow me."

*"I would like to clarify that this room was not unattended for more than fifteen minutes. Beatrice had gone in at one o'clock after Mr. Ruvie had left, and it was not like this."

*"There is no way that children could do something like this in fifteen minutes, I do not care how smart they are."

*"This is not the only room."


End file.
